


Wings

by Yelposaurus



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Freedom, Introspection, Rebellion, Revolution, Stars, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yelposaurus/pseuds/Yelposaurus
Summary: I think we once wanted to be the sky, and when we found that it was scraping our fingertips, struggling and grasping and oh soterrifyinglyclose, just a little further now, a littlelonger--"True," and they breath out, "we have nothing to compare this to, this mess of a plan, this shambled idea of some kind ofredemption." They laugh, and it filters through the air like water: cold and brittle and hiding so many different things. They breath in, lungs expanding, and say,"But what's the worst that could happen?"
Kudos: 1





	Wings

This is our only escape.  
Sitting on the cracked tiles of a roof, with the pipes and the drains beneath us and the crumbling skeletal walls that still somehow hold. The stars above. Here, we're out of sight of anyone who cares - and there're a lot of people who care. And not in a loving way, no, not by far. 

If were ever caught sitting here, looking up, I don't think I know what would happen to us.  
Actually, that's a lie. But thoughts like those are best kept elsewhere.  
Especially at such an important time, too.

"How are things going?" they ask, arm resting over their bent leg, head back and eyes distant, _wistful._ The night sky stretches out above, clearing my mind by clouding it over with something that seems a little nicer. 

"Nothing like this has ever been done before," I say, because I don't really know how they want me to answer. 

"True," and they breath out, "we have nothing to compare this to, this mess of a plan, this shambled idea of some kind of _redemption._ " They laugh, and it filters through the air like water: cold and brittle and hiding so many different things. They breath in, lungs expanding, and say, "But what's the worst that could happen?"

I wonder for a moment, looking at the blank sky.  
"We're still alive." _For now._ I can only hope for the future to at least be better than the worst. 

They make a little noise in the back of their throat, the sound enveloped by the wind.  
"So it's going well," they answer, and their shoulders loosen a little, smile all sweet and hollow and warm. 

_As well as it could,_ I think. 

They start to stand, a tile sliding down the roof before they catch it with their foot. They straighten, and brush their hands off on their legs, saying, "I've been up here long enough. Get back soon, okay?" 

"Yeah," _breathless._

But then they're off, and over the other side of the roof. No goodbye. No 'see you later.' Saying goodbye means they're important, means you care.  
You can have such a privilege here, not if you don't ever see them again. There is no time to mourn, no time at all. 

It's kind of sad, I know. But if it's become the norm, how can we ever know if it's any different?

I look up, and everything looks back. 

There are worlds out there that are better than ours, and worlds that are worse, _far worse,_ but they're all too far away, too distant, too unrecognizable. 

The sky, however, is so, _so much closer._

If only we could grow wings, I think we would be up there every chance we'd get.  
I think...

I think we once wanted to be the sky, and when we found that it was scraping our fingertips, struggling and grasping and oh so _terrifyingly_ close, just a little further now, a little _longer_ \- we settled for the memory, the vision of what could have happened if life was ever so kind.  
We used those memories, those visions to create our own version of wings, and now we're finally brave enough to use them.  
After all, what are these things worth if you refuse to fly?

I can't wait to see what it's like all the way up there, with the sun and the moon and the dark and the stars (oh god the _stars_ ) - I can never see them from here, the sky too polluted by too many things that shouldn't ever be there.  
I wonder what they're like, whether you can touch them, hold their hands, dance and spin around without a care in the world together: all these things that I can't do right now, can't hope for. 

But maybe they're things that we can do, together, me and everyone else here who's sitting in their falling-down homes feeling even a little brave. And while we can't allow ourselves to hope, we can still think, and let our minds wander a little. 

_We._  
_We_ built all this, our homes, our traditions, our lives. Our family.  
And yes, it may be built on stilts, and still a little broken, but it's still _good._

As good as it can be, for this place.  
I wouldn't leave them for the sky, not now, not ever. 

We'll hold those stars together, along with the planets and the dark and the sky, all in our arms. We'll reach them together, if we ever do.  
Tomorrow will be our last chance, our _only chance._

And we will not stand for a sacrifice, not a single soul or planet or piece of sky left behind. 

We will touch the stars together, hold hands and dance with the planets and their moons as they spin around suns and galaxies and so many things we can't imagine right now. 

This family, that we found all on our own. 

We will have wings, even if it takes us a million years.


End file.
